This past weekend, a friend and I were watching my son play.  We could not help but giggle and feel good as we witnessed him…He is five and very imaginative.  All his play is accompanied by the appropriate sounds – when he got on his bike, he let out a, “Hee-haw!!!” as he sped away and there is always a soft murmur of battles with exploding bombs and gunfire as he fights the galactic fleet with legos… 

I remarked to my friend, “That is being present – fully engaged in the moment.  Not worried about what if or is there enough – just being.  I remember that.  I love that.”

 I began reflecting on when I feel that way now in my life.  I feel this when I see clients, meditate, during sex, being in my garden…and what I realized – I need to work on this.  This feeling of presence – being in the moment without being distracted by anything else - well, I need more of that in others areas of my life as well…so, now I’ve been trying this experiment with myself.

 When I feel myself slipping out of the present by becoming anxious about the future, or bored, or even when I begin triggering about something – I think of my son and “Hee-haw!”  It reminds me to be right here, right now and most importantly, it reminds me to breathe – to settle myself in this moment.

 I invite you to watch some kids at play and discover if this is something to work on for yourself  – being present.  Identify an image (must be a positive, feel-good picture!) that works for you and begin connecting to this image in times you feel yourself not present or slipping from presence – you just might be surprised by what you discover!  Have fun and drop me a line if you have any questions or want to share your stories. 

When I was nine years old I fell off a bike.  It was horrible.  I was flying down a hill and my flip-flops fell off.  I had those pedals that had the spiky surfaces so I couldn’t put my bare feet on the pedals or risk impalement. I started panicking because my speed was increasing every moment with the descent - I had to do something fast.  Thinking my best option was going onto the grass, I steered my bike to the left and hit an edge.  Suddenly, I was hurling threw the air only to land on my forehead.  Ouch.   

 Blood seemed everywhere and my wailing began.  I walked down the rest of the hill to my aunt’s house, tears streaming and looking for Mom.  Unfortunately, Mom was out and Dad was there.  Let’s just say he was useless and leave it at that.  Not surprisingly, I didn’t ride a bike again for a long time and when I did, it was a white-knuckle, tense experience.

 Fast-forward to today and now I am the Mom with two kids riding bikes.  My kids kept asking me to go for bike rides with them too, not just Daddy or the sitter.  I would say with a shrug, “I don’t have a bike.”  Then my husband bought me a beautiful purple and hot pink cruiser with a big basket.  I had no more excuses, so I tried riding again. 

 Against every instinct I began riding my bike.  My daughter and I started riding to and from her school every day and after a week or two, I noticed things were changing.  I stopped gripping the handle bars for dear life.  I felt more comfortable riding and most of all, I liked it again.  It was fun riding on my pretty, purple bike – I felt so young again, even carefree.   

 Mind you, I will never wear flip-flops while biking ever again and I still don’t make a whole lot of conversation as I don’t want to somehow get distracted and fall.  However, each day I’m a little more confident and most of all, I feel as though I am reconnecting to that little girl inside who was hurt so many years ago.  She’s healing and coming out again…and I am happy to welcome her home.    

“You learn to bear it.  Yes, some things you just learn to bear,” were the words spoken to me the other day with a tight smile and condescending eyes.  I was shocked – you learn to bear it?  Are you kidding me?  And then again she repeated this philosophy, “Someone of my advanced years has had more experiences and learned that some pains are learned to be lived with, to walk with.”

 Again, I was speechless.  Was this woman serious?  Could she possibly be trying to tell me that her life pains/traumas were more painful then mine and one day I too would gain entry into this elite group that walks with pain?  The most difficult part of the interaction for me is – she was serious.  Her pains, her life experience were so hard – she proved it, she beared it everyday, proudly even.  I shut my mouth, not questioning any longer, but spinning.

 “Bearing it” has only disempowered my life, myself and most of all my relationship with God.  I have come to accept that today, I can only see in part, all will be revealed in time.  And when my fears, my anxieties, even my own victim self reveal their presence still - I smile, start singing a Karen Carpenter song in my head and think, what do I need to lay down?     

In the night, under the tenderness of the dark, you can find me resting in the palm of God’s hand.  I found my way here years ago.  I came crawling out of my despair, longing to feel loved.  What I first thought was an empty promise, lead to my grace.

As a child I was taught there is no God, only me.  I would find my way with no shelter from the storm, just me, alone and not surprisingly, frightened out of my mind.  I became an over-stressed, anxiety prone adult completely unsatisfied from within.  However, on the outside, the persona the world saw, I was fine - I had a lot of friends, a boyfriend, a good education.  My whole life lay before me and I felt lost and alone.

One Sunday, I don’t even remember why, I found my way alone to a church.  It was a beautiful church.  Pure New England style – a tall, white steeple with a giant bell, stained glass windows and filled with warm pine pews.  The minister was new, just filling in while the regular pastor who was on sabbatical.  The new minister was a woman.

She was a petite lady with a helmet of short, gray hair and sparkling eyes behind thick, black rims.  She used to be nun years ago, but left to have a family.  Immediately I felt a kinship to this woman who took the road less traveled.  Starting down one path only to shock the world by turning around and going in the opposite direction.

I’m not sure what the service was about that Sunday, but I remember I wept throughout.  I couldn’t stop.  I just felt like somewhere inside I came home.  As the pastor spoke, she silently invited each one of us to know God not only by the words she uttered, but by her very presence.  This woman was peace - a beacon calling to a new life.

I do remember she spoke of a loving God who was with you always.  The words were a balm for my wounds and I could feel myself calm from the inside.  I breathed again.  Then we sang hymns, ones I had never heard before and suddenly I was singing the words, “Resting in the palm of God’s Hand,” and I was.

In that moment, I understood - I am never alone.  I looked at the shining faces around me and saw pure joy.  “Joy,” not pleasure derived from buying or attaining something, but joy - the glorious simmering of your soul in the fullness of life.  This was a place for me, resting in the palm of God’s hand.

Today I still use this imagery over and over whenever I feel lost, or out of balance.  Sometimes, as you grow up, you discover you have to release certain beliefs you were taught as a child.  I know this lesson of “There is no God, you have to do it all,” was taught to me with the best of intentions – survival.   However, it crippled my life and I became obsessed with control or truly, the illusion of control.

Fortunately, I changed my belief and allowed myself to feel supported by an abundant and loving God.  So now, in the dark of night, you can find me resting in the palm of God’s hand.  Maybe one day I will see you there too.